I believe in the uncommon the unusual and unlikely even the miraculous. I believe in nearly all things except impossibilities. That I cant fathom.

Who worries for dying If I close my eyes tonight I will either dream or not or my eyes will open and I will be here again. And if none of those happen and I do not wake Who worries for dying

...The heart mourns people and places and returns to them in dreams...

That girl dead and gone her spirit trapped forever just inside town limitsshed come from someplace was going somewhere. Until destiny had stepped into the road in front of her stopped her forward motion drawn a killing claw against the white fluttering swell of her future. Whispering Oh no you dont.When you made plans the saboteurs came out to play.

Death Ive dreamed of it Ive desired it but what real happiness can come from it

Its not a question of who will allow me to do it its a question of who will stop me.

...I live in Ireland every day in a drizzly dream of a Dublin walk...

Finding her voice at last she asked What dreams are you having sir I dreamt I was in a spring field and a woman stands in the shadows just at the edge of the nearby forest. I havent yet seen her face only her long beautiful hair. I always wake too soon. He reached up to touch the hawk touchstone around his throat as he described his dream rubbing it absently between his fingers. Lily lowered her lashes to hide her astonishment. When you see someone in a dream but cannot see their face it means you havent met them yet she explained. Then perhaps Ill dream of her again tonight and this time Ill see her face. He smiled reaching across the table to take her left hand and lift it to his lips. My name is Ian Kelly and it would give me the greatest pleasure to know yours. Lily Evans. Around here I go by Raven. She raised a shoulder indicating the gypsy tent. Lily--indeed a most beautiful name. Now tell me he stared pointedly at her hand I see no ring that another has claimed you as his so my confidence is strengthened. Look at your cards again milady and tell me if you see me in your future

Whiteness is the color of death you know not black. Wetness is life the breeder and shaper of life. In the beginning the sun was black. So all light was absorbed before it had a chance to return. And our dreams then were empty.

I dont like to make a distinction between the writer and the painter finally because I do both things anyway . Everybodys dreaming and trying to put down their dreams in the way that their hand knows best . I feel as much a unity as much comradeship with painters as I do writers .